


Something Lost, Something Gained

by Mel1



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, POV Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective T'Challa, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel1/pseuds/Mel1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene to CACW: Bucky wakes up in a Wakandan Hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Falling. He was falling. Through ice shafts onto ice slabs into ice hell where the short man with the round glasses ripped him apart with needles and put him together with hacksaws over and over and over he was falling always falling bleeding burning screaming –_

Bucky came awake with a gasp, cold and sweaty and shuddering. Where was he? What was happening? Was someone there? Was someone coming? Did he need to escape?

“James?” A deep, quiet, voice off to his right startled him. The room was dark but there was a glow of light near where the voice was coming from. Someone was there. Who was there? He turned his head, tried to turn his head, but his head and his neck felt like a hundred pounds of warm taffy. “James? Are you all right?”

Bucky heard a rustle that sounded like papers being shuffled and set aside and whoever was next to him appeared in his line of sight. A black man, young, familiar in a formless way.  

“James? Are you all right? Should I summon your doctor?”

“Buck—ee,” he tried to insist. “M’name’s –“ but his mouth was  dry and his tongue was combative and  his eyes felt like they were about to sink into his skull.

“Drink,” the voice said and the young man had a glass in his hand with a bent straw that he touched against Bucky’s lips and waited while Bucky tried to remember what he was supposed to do with it.

And then he remembered and the cold, wet water was the best thing he’d ever tasted, until it was gone and the voice was soothing him, “That’s all for now. There will be more again, soon. I promise.”

Bucky tried to blink the dry, dragging feeling out of his eyes. His body felt numb. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

The question ignited a memory of fighting ~ _it always ends in a fight_ ~ vicious, brutal, rage-filled, bloody.

 “Who did I hurt?” he asked. Forced himself to ask.

“No one. You hurt _no one_ ,” the young man said. “ _You_ were injured. You’ve been in surgery, and you’ve been sleeping.” He paused, maybe giving Bucky a chance to remember something or say something or ask another question that he didn’t have. “You’re in a hospital.”

“No, I don’t remember. I don’t --“ Bucky’s head felt heavy and his eyelids felt heavier and going back to sleep was always the better option. Until a memory surfaced. “ _Steve_?”

“He’s sleeping. I hope. He had been awake twenty-seven hours, that I was witness to. I told him to stop imitating a helicopter and get some rest.”

“Helicopter?” Bucky asked and the young man made a twirling motion over his head with his index finger.

“He was hovering.”

The description made Bucky laugh, dry and painful, until he remembered trying to kill Steve by shoving a helicopter at him on top of a building and it wasn’t funny anymore. The glass and straw were offered again and he drank more water.

“Who are you? I think I should know but I can’t remember.”

“I am T’Challa. We were not properly introduced.”

“But who _are_ you?”

“We are in Wakanda. You and Captain Rogers have been offered sanctuary in my country.”

He wasn’t lying, Bucky didn’t think he was lying, but he seemed to be avoiding saying something. Bucky fought the exhaustion threatening to send him back under and searched his recent memory. T’Challa. Wakanda. Sanctuary.

He remembered.

“Your father died because of me.”

“No. My father’s death does not rest upon you.”

 “He died because that man wanted to frame me.”

“He died because Tony Stark created an artificial intelligence which killed thousands of people in Sokovia and drove a man to the madness of vengeance. None of that falls on you.”

“But –“ Bucky tried to find his guilt in it because being part of a death that he wasn’t responsible for was too strange to contemplate, but he was too weary to try for long.  “Still -- I’m sorry.” 

“Thank you. I know that I’ll see him again.” T’Challa offered the water again. “Perhaps you should go back to sleep. You have much to recover from.”

“Yeah.” Bucky couldn’t remember what he was recovering from but sleep sounded perfect right now. No thoughts, no memories no guilt. Sleep was always better. He drank some water, let his eyes close, and thought of nothing.

Movement and voices shot him awake again. Someone was on his left side, leaning over him. When they touched him, put a hand on his forehead, he reacted, bringing his left arm up to block them. They weren’t going to take him. He wasn’t going back. Not without a fight. He swung his left arm and – and – and nothing. His arm didn’t move. It’d been disabled. The attempt at least was enough to make the person step back.

“Mr. Barnes – are you awake?” It wasn’t the voice from before, Bucky remembered that was a man, this was a woman, but it was similar in its depth and reassuring tone. He remembered the man had given him water and comfort. He remembered he was safe.  “Mr. Barnes? Can you hear me?”

His eyes felt like they’d been glued shut and when he managed to open them, he had to blink to clear the blur. The room was bright with sunlight but the woman was just out of view and his strength still wasn’t up to turning his head to get a good look at her. He was just about to tell her his name was Bucky when there was more movement on his right side.

“Buck? Bucky, you awake?” Steve. That voice was Steve.  He appeared in Bucky’s line of sight.

“S’posed be ‘sleep,” Bucky said. Tried to say. His mouth had gone completely dry and unworkable again.

“The nurse needs to check your vitals. You can go back to sleep when she’s done.”

“ _You’re_ s’pose be ‘sleep. Said – he said – you’re – a helicopter.”

“I’m a  –“ Steve dragged the word out. “ – _helicopter?_ ”

“S’what he said…s’water?” The glass and bent straw appeared and Bucky drank his fill this time.

“Buck – you’ve had a concussion,” Steve said, sounding like he was explaining something that shouldn’t need explaining. “I don’t know what –“ He paused like he was thinking about it  then it was like he gave up trying to be cautious. He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Refreshed by the water, Bucky found it easier to answer. “You’re supposed to be sleeping. He said you should stop being a helicopter and get some sleep.”

“He? A helicopter?”

“His Majesty stayed with Mr. Barnes while you were sleeping,” the nurse said. Bucky managed to turn his head enough to get her in view. She was an older black woman, with graying hair and a colorfully patterned nurse’s uniform.

“T’Challa called me a helicopter?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, hovering.” Bucky tried to recreate the twirling motion but his right arm was still too heavy to move. “Wait – Majesty? What Majesty? T’Challa is --?”

“Yeah, he’s King of Wakanda.”

“King? But – then – why did he stay with me?”

“Because Captain Rogers was sleeping,” the nurse said. “And his Majesty didn’t want you to wake up alone in an unfamiliar place.”

_Majesty. King. A king had stayed with him – him – all night so he wasn’t alone._

“Oh. Uh – oh. Uh – is that why my arm’s been disabled?”

That was a bad question to ask, judging from the way Steve’s expression went from mild to anguished in a split second, the way he looked over to the nurse and said, “If you’ve got everything you need for right now…” like he needed her out of the room to answer the question.

“I’ll return in half an hour to replace his IV. Use the call button if you need me before then,” she said and left the room, letting the door hiss closed behind her.

“Steve? What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Buck – your arm wasn’t disabled. You – lost it. You lost your arm. It – it was blown off. It’s not there. Not anymore.”

“No, it’s there. I can feel it.” Bucky tried to sit up but couldn’t lift his head, he tried to reach with his other hand but he couldn’t make that arm do what he wanted, he tried moving his left arm but nothing happened. He tried harder.   _“I can feel it, I can still feel it.”_

“Buck – wait – here – don’t move. Don’t try to move. Let me – “

And then the bed was whirring and moving, raising Bucky up until he could look down at his left arm and see – nothing. His left shoulder was swathed in bandages but below that – nothing.

His arm, _the_ arm, the weapon that he’d used to kill so many people, the thing he’d spent these last two years in hiding from and in hiding for.

It was gone.

He started to ask, “How?” He thought he should know how he lost it, the memory seemed to shudder just outside his ability to recall it, but the word disappeared into a sob and he couldn’t finish the question.

 “Buck? Bucky? Hey, it’s all right. It’s – “ Steve sounded anxious, sounded awkward. “Hey, c’mon, c’mere…” He put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder but Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and kept his face turned away. “We can – we’ll get you another arm. A new one. A better one. Anything you want. It can be –“

“No, just – no, it’s not –“ Bucky choked on his words and tried to ignore the tears running down his face. “I don’t care. If I never get another arm again, I don’t care. That’s not – it’s not – It’s just not.“

“Then what? Bucky? Hey, c’mon, look at me. Just – what?”

Bucky pulled his right hand up, which was still so heavy it felt like he was dragging the world with it, Steve saying “Be careful of your IV…”,and managed to swipe his tears with the heel of his hand.

“It’s gone. I can’t hurt anybody with it anymore. I’m free of it.”

 

**~ post-story-stinger ~**

 

Tony stood in his lab, staring at the two metal objects he’d brought back from Siberia: the vibranium shield his father had created, and the metal arm his parents had died by.

Banner stood beside him. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”  

“Think what?” Tony asked through clenched teeth.

“About guilt, blame, things we can’t change.” Bruce said. “The things we use to protect ourselves, the things we hide behind.”

Tony looked at him. “Which means _what_?”

“None of us are blameless.”

“So, you think I should forgive Barnes for murdering my parents?”

“No. I think you should forgive yourself for believing you didn’t love them enough while they were alive.”

Tony took a breath and shook his head. “I don’t think I can.”

 

**~ roll final credits ~**

 

 

 

 


	2. Worth It

Steve sat in the chair next to the hospital bed, pretending to read a book. Bucky lay on the hospital bed, pretending to be asleep. His eyes were closed but Steve could tell by his breathing that he was awake, but he let him be.

The room was quiet, the floor outside the room was quiet, they were in ‘ _a special wing for special guests’_ T’Challa had said and it hadn’t even been code for a locked ward or a prisoners’ wing. Bucky’s chief nurse, Amaka, who’d apparently known T’Challa and doted on him his whole life, had serenely informed them that they were in the royal family’s personal wing at the hospital.

Bucky, who hadn’t even provided himself a bedframe or blankets in the room in Bucharest hadn’t been exactly cheered by that news. So Steve was letting him be.

It was the middle of the second full day they’d been in Wakanda, the first day after the surgery to repair the stump of Bucky’s left arm. The surgery had gone well, the orthopedic surgeon assured Steve. Bionic and robotic specialists – with a bomb expert standing by – had removed as much of the remains of the metal arm as they could. The nutritionist said that Bucky was slightly malnourished and she’d draw up an appropriate dietary plan for him. The occupational therapist said he’d stop by later to begin teaching Bucky how to feed himself and take care of himself and function with one arm. The physical therapist said that after a few days of recuperation she’d begin prepping Bucky for a new prosthetic arm. The craniofacial specialist said that the trauma caused by Tony kicking Bucky in the face with his metal boot hadn’t caused any lasting damage. The ophthalmologist said that the kick had done no damage to his eyes. The neurologists said that the results of the MRI, CT scan and ECG indicated that Bucky’s concussion was healing. They were less encouraging when Steve asked about the effect of the repeated mind wipes but the psychologist said she was calling in a colleague who worked exclusively with victims of torture and brainwashing and he’d be able to give them a better idea of any residual damage. And a Catholic priest from Ethiopia who was visiting friends in Wakanda was ready and willing to visit Bucky if at any time he might request it.

Steve was exhausted just thinking about all that so he let Bucky have the pretense of sleep, let him have the rest. He knew Bucky would talk when he wanted, when he was ready. Until then, just being together in the same room with nobody trying to kill them was exactly what Steve wanted.

He gave up on the book and set it on the table next to his chair. The movement or the sound got Bucky’s attention. He turned to Steve. “Are you leaving?”

“Just trying to get comfortable on this really uncomfortable chair.”

Bucky lifted his head to get a better look and frowned. “What’re you complaining about? That chair looks stuffed with eiderdown.”

“Yeah, this whole room is kitted out like a hotel,” Steve agreed.  The chair was overstuffed and oversoft. The oversized side table was dark polished wood and the lamp was a pressed glass base with an ornately embroidered shade. “When T’Challa takes care of someone, he _really_ takes care of them.”

Bucky’s frown deepened and he turned away. Steve knew what he was going to say even before he said it. “I’m not worth it. I’m not worth any of this.”

“Yes, you are. You are worth it, Bucky.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, I think you are.”

“Well, I think you’re an idiot, you always have been.” Bucky said, but there was no heat in his words.

“T’Challa thinks you’re worth it.”

Bucky didn’t answer that. He pressed his lips shut and stared up at the ceiling and Steve let him be. He put his head back and closed his eyes and let _himself_ be for a while. All that either of them really needed right now was quiet and rest.

After a few minutes though, Bucky shifted on the bed, “I –“ he started to say then stopped. Steve leaned forward in the chair.

“Buck? What do you need?”

“I pulled you from the river,” Bucky said. He turned his head to look at Steve. “I pulled you from the river because – you know, why do you lift your shield when you’re attacked? Because that’s what you do. You don’t think about it, you do it. You just do it. I pulled you outta the water because I couldn’t _not_ pull you out. I didn’t know if I knew you, but I couldn’t _not_ pull you out.”

Steve reached out but Bucky pulled away. So he stepped up to the bed, intending to put his hand on Bucky’s arm anyway, but there was a knock on the door and a tiny, cheerful young woman poked her head around.

“Lunch for Mister Barnes and Mister Rogers?” she asked, smiling brightly.

Bucky groaned but Steve put on a smile and went to hold the door as she wheeled her small cart in. She placed a tray on the overbed table and another one next to Steve’s chair and wheeled her cart out again, cheerfully promising to be back later for the dishes, and Steve let the door pull itself closed.

“Not hungry?” he asked.

“It’s too much.”

The tray in front of Bucky held a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, a dish of fruit-filled rice pudding, and a squat carton of something that looked like a protein shake and it was too much for Bucky, who turned his face away and pressed into the pillow like he didn’t even want to look at the food. Steve moved the tray from the overbed table to the side table.

“When I first came back, the food they gave me was like they were trying to impress me or something. Fancy cuts of meat, vegetables served up in ridiculous shapes, food so full of chemicals I could taste it. For breakfast they’d give me sandwiches with the bacon and egg all piled together on bread like I was in too much of a hurry to eat them all one by one. And all I wanted for breakfast was oatmeal.”

“Grandma’s oatmeal?” Bucky asked, not sounding too sure. He looked at Steve. “She put apples and cinnamon in it?”

“Yeah, and brown sugar and cream. Try finding real cream these days.” Steve decided to try the rice pudding on Bucky first and he set the dish and spoon on the table in front of him.

“Here you go, it’s not oatmeal but it looks pretty good.”

Bucky lifted the spoon and used it to poke at the bowl. “This thing wearing a hood for a reason?”

The bowl was basically a regularly shaped bowl with one side drawn up half again as high. Steve had seen plenty of those when he visited old folks homes to spend time with retired veterans

“That’s to make it easier to scoop up the rice. It’s a weighted bowl with a special lip to make it easier for you to eat one handed.”

Bucky shot Steve a look of amazement. He pulled his hand – which was clearly trembling – off the table and pushed it against the bed. “They did that for me?”

“Yes, they did that for you. All of this is for you,” Steve said and gestured around the room. “You’re worth it, Buck. You are. You don’t have to believe me, just – don’t fight me on it, OK?”

Bucky chewed the inside of his lower lip and didn’t answer. He picked up the spoon and tried a bite of the rice pudding, and then another one, and Steve turned to his own lunch. He was facing away, with his back to Bucky and he heard a very soft, _“I’ll try.”_

##

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
